


Carblintz

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Childhood, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, Kid Fic, food fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Regis was a master of negotiations, if he did say so himself; he had managed to secure a little corner of the royal kitchens for a treat.





	Carblintz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glaivenoct](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glaivenoct/gifts).

The royal kitchens were not a simple thing. There were levels and layers to them in the depths of the Citadel— the expansive, well stocked kitchens used to cater to events and the guests of the royal family. These were a chaotic furnace beneath the kingdom; a realm of its own populated by a small army of waitstaff and line cooks, guarded by a brigade of sous chefs and eager young cooks testing themselves and each other to push at the limits set in place. And ruled over by a chef that even the King of Lucis himself could never hope to question or overthrow in the comforts of his own alien realm that seemed to spring from the mind of the Infernian.

That doesn’t mean that King Regis hadn’t brokered a few alliances in his time. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

The kitchens were never really empty. But there had been intense negotiations to secure a small corner to himself. Regis had come prepared, and backed by Clarus’ not inconsiderable imposition. He had brought in a list of demands, spent weeks negotiating the territory and safe passage. He believed that he and the ruler of the stainless steel kingdom of the kitchens had come to a fair agreement for now. 

Noctis could barely see over the counter, but he was more willing than the head chef himself to question Regis. 

“Of course I know what I’m doing,” Regis had requested the basics prepared before hand. It had been part of the earlier negotiations. Along with the three hours of lessons to learn the right techniques and skills to perfect this single, singular dish. “When have I not known what I’m doing, my boy?”

“I don’t think I should answer that,” Noctis answered too quick to have not already been thinking of more cutting responses. Regis could hear the barely suppressed chuckle from Clarus— his traitorous Shield settled too far away at a table to be any help, attention on a newspaper rather than the King he was sworn to protect from such insults. 

Regis sighed, he supposed he could still outwit a ten year-old on his own; “I’ll take your silence as proof that I’m the best father in Eos.”

Spreading the batter was the easy part. He could stare at the colouring of it as it cooked in his little borrowed skillet, ignoring the eyes of the junior chefs glancing over as they worked nearby. He could assume that they were curious about his newfound skills in their domain, in awe of his versatility. He could pretend that he didn’t hear Clarus whispering to Noctis that they were making sure the great King of Lucis didn’t set fire to himself. Instead, he focused on his task for the perfect base of this concoction— smooth, lightly browned, sweeter than he usually considered appropriate for breakfast. 

Noctis flitted across the treaty lines like a little diplomat himself; charming their two junior chef guardians out of pieces of apples and handfuls of berries that would stain his mouth and hands. Regis smiled to himself as he took advantage of the distraction to speed through the last of the batter. The round little blintz added to the growing pile, waiting to be filled. 

“Would you like to test this for me?”

He offered the mixing bowl of creamy filling to his son,the concoction made before they arrived as per the treaty between the throne and the kitchens. 

The colouring, however, had been Regis’ idea. Noctis had spent a good long while perfecting the colouring of Carbuncle’s fur in his drawings, and Regis had delivered a sample of a doodle (now apparently adorning a fridge in the more chaotic section of the kitchens) with the seemingly impossible request to try to match the strange colour of green and grey that Noctis had declared ‘close enough’. It appeared wholly unappetizing in appearance— if Clarus’ reaction was anything to go by— but Noctis’ lit up at the recognition. The slice of apple charmed from a smiling cook was unceremoniously dipped into the bowl of filling and Noctis nodded his approval at the sweet and savoury mixture. 

“Did you make this, dad?”

Their guardians seemed to smile wider as Regis nodded, “Of course!”

“When?”

“When you were in bed. Does it meet your approval, Noct?”

“Can I help with the filling?”

The folding of the blintz was the hard part, Regis had learnt. The tricks that he had been shown all abandoned in favour of the inelegant folds of Noctis’ small and inexperienced hands. They argued over the proper methods, while staff around them popped in and out to the small territory negotiated for their own use with smiles and whispers. Regis had thought he had started off admirably, taking his son’s hands to show him the right folds. Smiling as a small stool was delivered from some kind brigade cook for the young prince to stand on so he could see over the counter. Plates were piled high with the little creations, growing messier and messier as Regis realized that there was nearly enough to feed an army. Three plates were set aside for them— Noctis, Clarus, and himself, Regis reasoned, though he thought Clarus hadn’t actually earned any treat by just warming a place at their borrowed table— and the rest were laid out in trays. Twenty extras were set aside for the helpful allies of the kitchen kingdom, with Noctis watching in awe as a decorator arrived with a small piping bag full of custard in the colour of Carbuncle’s fur. 

The decorator showed the young prince how to manage and hold the bag, his hands too small to really grip the bag correctly. But Noctis tried, and Regis smiled as one blintz after another gained the features of Noctis’ favoured divine friend. 

“Dad! Look!”

The head chef came over to inspect the work, as he inspected every creation in his kingdom. There was a soft muttering about the texture and presentation, careful movements made to inspect and test. Praise came in small utterances about the strange colour, the creative design. And the treats were distributed before long, with the seal of royal approval. 

“That’s very good, Noctis. You’re a natural.”

“I’m going to call it… Carblintz!”

“Perhaps,” the head chef started as he joined them for their meal; “I should add it to the little Highness’ birthday menu?”


End file.
